"Steven Seagal’s tour for his recent album Mojo Priest drew a full house at B. B. King Blues Club on Sunday night. The album came out just over a month ago in the US, but true fans in the audience were likely already familiar with songs like “Alligator Ass” and “Talk to My Ass” from the import version released earlier this spring.
I’d mistakenly expected to encounter a large faction of middle-aged tourists but instead found a relatively diverse crowd in regard to both age and hipness. My friends were enthused to briefly chat with MC Chris before the show, something I was oblivious to as a consequence of my low pop culture awareness.
When Seagal appeared on stage, he was wearing a vibrant purple tunic and a some sort of talisman suspended from a sliver chain. The flashy outfit seemed an unnecessary effort to be more visible -- when you have twice the physical mass of your supporting band members and are the only white guy on stage, there's little danger of fading into the background.
The music itself is scarcely worth mentioning; not bad enough to be painful and certainly not good enough to take seriously. The vocals weren't overly dominant, so I had to strain to hear that the lyrics involved something to do with making scrambled eggs and getting some ass. During a few of the show's off moments, Seagal was stricken by what a friend coined “the George Bush expression.” A look of mild confusion would cross his face for a few moments, but then almost immediately his uncertainty would be erased by a giddy, boyish smile when he realized that the enthusiasm in the room was all directed at him.
But then, why wouldn't he smile? As the evening progressed, there was a definite shift in the crowd from ironic detachment to genuine enthusiasm. By the time of the encore, we were chanting "Mojo Priest" not out of mockery but because we wanted the spectacle to continue. The conga line may have formed out of jest, but hey, when's the last time you've seen a conga line at Bowery? And that was the greatest thing about the show: to some extent, everyone was in on the joke -- including Seagal himself.
Best of all, there was a meet and greet session after the show. As we waited in line, they passed out cans of Seagal's energy drink, which comes in "Cherry Charge" and "Asian Experience" flavors. The meeting and greeting didn't involve the signing of breasts, so we had to settle for Seagal reaching his hand pretty far up my friend’s shirt in order to autograph it. The Brits in line behind us, however, had the best autograph scheme of all. On the inside of their passports, they had Seagal sign the space where you list emergency contact info."
source: jerry yeti's cave
I’d mistakenly expected to encounter a large faction of middle-aged tourists but instead found a relatively diverse crowd in regard to both age and hipness. My friends were enthused to briefly chat with MC Chris before the show, something I was oblivious to as a consequence of my low pop culture awareness.
When Seagal appeared on stage, he was wearing a vibrant purple tunic and a some sort of talisman suspended from a sliver chain. The flashy outfit seemed an unnecessary effort to be more visible -- when you have twice the physical mass of your supporting band members and are the only white guy on stage, there's little danger of fading into the background.
The music itself is scarcely worth mentioning; not bad enough to be painful and certainly not good enough to take seriously. The vocals weren't overly dominant, so I had to strain to hear that the lyrics involved something to do with making scrambled eggs and getting some ass. During a few of the show's off moments, Seagal was stricken by what a friend coined “the George Bush expression.” A look of mild confusion would cross his face for a few moments, but then almost immediately his uncertainty would be erased by a giddy, boyish smile when he realized that the enthusiasm in the room was all directed at him.
But then, why wouldn't he smile? As the evening progressed, there was a definite shift in the crowd from ironic detachment to genuine enthusiasm. By the time of the encore, we were chanting "Mojo Priest" not out of mockery but because we wanted the spectacle to continue. The conga line may have formed out of jest, but hey, when's the last time you've seen a conga line at Bowery? And that was the greatest thing about the show: to some extent, everyone was in on the joke -- including Seagal himself.
Best of all, there was a meet and greet session after the show. As we waited in line, they passed out cans of Seagal's energy drink, which comes in "Cherry Charge" and "Asian Experience" flavors. The meeting and greeting didn't involve the signing of breasts, so we had to settle for Seagal reaching his hand pretty far up my friend’s shirt in order to autograph it. The Brits in line behind us, however, had the best autograph scheme of all. On the inside of their passports, they had Seagal sign the space where you list emergency contact info."
source: jerry yeti's cave
strange big guy writes strange songs !!! 
